


ten second span

by Alienu



Series: nothing lasts forever [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Best Friends, Death, Forests, Friends to Enemies, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Killing, Manipulation, No Romance, Revenge, Swearing, Violence, dream is a manipulative pissbaby, i speed wrote this sorry for mistakes i missed, psychotic Wilbur, sleepy bois brothers AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26944672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alienu/pseuds/Alienu
Summary: Wilbur’s limp body crumples to the ground as Tubbo retracts his sword, sticky crimson liquid pouring from the wound in buckets. It seeps out into the ground, soaking into the soil and polluting the tension thick air with a metallic stench."Tubbo...?"
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: nothing lasts forever [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1962868
Comments: 16
Kudos: 223





	ten second span

**Author's Note:**

> based off of Hollowjackals' AU on twitter!! 
> 
> sorry for any mistakes, i really wanted to get this out by tonight and my beta reader said it was good so if there are any then :shrug: oh well

Tommy’s thought process occurs within the span of ten seconds.

_3._

His eyes catch onto the swinging blade, closing in on it’s victim, who is completely unaware of it. It glows in the dark, reflecting the light of the lanterns and showing off it’s enchanted status. He faintly recognizes the hand holding it, his blue eyes widening into round orbs of disbelief. Tommy tries at first to call out, to warn his older brother, but no matter how hard he tries no sound exits his mouth.

Wilbur stands with a maniacal grin on his face, eyes wide and pupils shrunken. In his right hand he holds the detonator, one configured for the sole purpose of blowing Manberg down to bedrock. The sun shines bright behind him, casting an intimidating, far from angelic light around the former president. He doesn’t see the smaller figure behind him, nor hear the whoosh of a blade slicing through the air.

_5._

Tommy reaches out in the next two seconds, reflexively moving forward. Distantly, it registers within his brain that he won’t make it in time. Even despite this, his body continues to move, shoes scrabbling desperately against the hard stone beneath him to launch himself forward. He hears a gasp, one far too feminine to be someone other than Niki, and grits his teeth to urge his body to move faster. 

_9._

The sword slices through cloth and soft flesh with a sickening squelch. Wilbur freezes, red staining his clothes, his features morphing into one of surprise before he chuckles. Tommy stills, shock coursing through his body, gazing at the horrific scene with wide, disbelieving blue eyes. Blood drips from the tip of the blade, poking out from the other side, mesmerizingly slow. The grass stains red. His heart plummets to his stomach.

_10._

“Tubbo..?”

Wilbur’s limp body crumples to the ground as Tubbo retracts his sword, sticky crimson liquid pouring from the wound in buckets. It seeps out into the ground, soaking into the soil and polluting the tension thick air with a metallic stench. Tommy drags his gaze away from the unmoving body of his older brother. He fights to keep the urge to vomit from bubbling up his throat. Wilbur’s now glassy eyes stare unblinking into the sky, the detonator sliding out of his loose hands and onto the bloodied ground.

Tubbo glances up at him, looking more concerned by the lack of reactions rather than the corpse of the former president laying in front of him. No one speaks still, not even Schlatt, who stands there in stunned silence. The Secretary of State frowns, wiping at a dot of blood on his cheek. He only succeeds in smearing it across his pale skin. 

“What?” He asks obliviously, looking around with a frown. “Why’s everyone quiet?”

Tommy takes a few steps back, trying to stay calm. His heart pounds furiously against his chest, every cell of his body urging him to scream and cry. He doesn’t. He needs to be rational—he needs to think this through, he needs to-

Tubbo reaches out for him. The taller boy flinches away. 

The brunette lowers his arms, suddenly hesitant, “Tommy?” 

“I-I,” he stutters, rushing blood roaring in his ears. His mouth open and closes uselessly, trying in vain to form words, to tell Tubbo that it’s okay. He can’t. He’s scared. Wilbur’s dead and—Tubbo killed him—Why did Tubbo kill him? Tubbo could barely hurt a fly, when did—when was he capable-

He lets the sword clatter to the ground, taking a few more steps forward, “Tommy...you’re not—“ panic laces his words, blue eyes widening as he extends both arms. He seems completely desensitized to the dark blood staining into his suit. Tommy’s throat constricts painfully as Tubbo stumbles over his words. “—I had to. It was—he was gonna hurt yo—everyone, Tommy—you’re…you’re not mad at me, right?” Tubbo smiles nervously, “You never get mad at me. I didn’t have a choice. Wilbur—“

“Don’t—“ Tommy pushes his friend away. Tubbo lets it happen, his features morphing into surprise. Tommy takes a few more steps back, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t touch me.”

“Wh-What?” Tubbo stammers, eyes wide. “But—“

“Don’t.” Tommy repeats again, this time a little louder. Angry tears prick at the corner of his eyes, his knuckles whitening when he curls his hands into a fist. His nails dig into his palms, the piercing needle-like pain ignored. “Don’t come near me.”

Tubbo stands there, staring at him. He seems shocked, as if he couldn’t believe what the blond was saying to him. No one says anything, not even Tubbo, so Tommy takes the opportunity and listens to what his gut is telling him to do. He runs.

Tree branches whip into his skin, leaving angry red marks that’ll probably fade later. He squints against the wind stinging his tear blurred eyes as he propels through the forest. Where is he going? He doesn’t know. He runs, shoes pounding against the grass, slipping and stumbling over rocks and crashing through the undergrowth. Tommy doesn’t know how long he spends blindly pushing through the forest, legs burning from exertion and his lungs crying for oxygen. He stumbles through a bush, emerging into a small clearing with a small stream running through it. Tommy sits himself heavily on the ground, leaning back against the rough bark of a tree. He pulls his knees up to his chest, hiding his face behind his arms.

_Wilbur’s dead,_ his brain chants, as if he would forget such an important fact, _he’s dead he’s dead and he’s not coming back and it’s all your fault because you didn’t save him and-_

“Shut up!” Tommy digs his hands into his hair, fingers curling around the rough blond strands. “It’s not.” he breathes heavily, chest constricting. The image of Wilbur’s lifeless body flashes in his mind again. “It’s not. I-I tried..” He squeezes his eyes tightly shut, the burning pain on his head a welcome distraction from his thoughts. “I tried.” 

—

Tubbo watches Tommy run, wanting to follow but his feet refusing to move. Dread weighs heavy in his stomach. Eret steps forward a few seconds later, the only one to speak aside from the two teenagers. His sunglasses reflect the bright sunlight as he reaches a hand towards the younger brunette’s shoulder. 

“Eret?” Tubbo cranes his head up to stare at him, his face expressing only confusion and sadness. Eret hesitates in his approach. Tubbo’s eyes are…different. They aren’t as lively and carefree as they had been a few months ago. In fact they seemed...blank. Like not even death fazes him anymore. “Tommy isn’t...he isn’t mad at me…is he?”

“C’mon.” Eret doesn’t reply to the question, pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose before placing his hand on the other’s shoulder. He turns them away from the gory scene, guiding his younger friend away, towards his castle. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Tubbo complies quietly, leaving his sword behind. Distantly, he hears the sound of people beginning to move. _Someone is crying,_ he thinks dazedly, _why?_ The shock of Tommy’s harsh words burns fresh in his mind, something that can only be described as confusion twisting throughout him. Wilbur was bad, right? He was going to hurt Tommy and hurt everyone. So why?

“Eret?”

“Yes, Tubbo?” Eret peeks down at him from the corner of his eye. His gaze blatantly avoids the streaks of red blood—Wilbur’s blood—on the younger’s skin. 

“Did I…” Tubbo speaks quietly, his voice trembling, “did I do something wrong?”

The older man pauses, slowing his steady walk. For once, he is at a loss of what to say. What happened to the Tubbo he knew? The Tubbo that everyone knew. The Tubbo that cried over the death of bees and spun around in boats for fun…when had he become so unaffected by murder and bloodshed? He killed Wilbur without remorse, and looks as if he’d do it again. Eret presses his lips into a thin line. No time to think about that. What matters is getting away from that shitshow of a festival.

Eret tries to ignore the wail of anguish that sounds from behind them. Tubbo stares numbly down at the wooden path as they walk, looking like he hadn’t even heard it. The king winces, cold dread pooling in his stomach. The more time that passes, the worse things get for both Manberg and Pogtopia. A part of him fears Techno’s reaction to the death of his younger, adopted brother. Lord knows that he’s not going to be happy, and an angry Technoblade is not someone to be taken lightly. Even worse, Techno is not the only one who is going to be angry. Wilbur had been a friend to many. He was charismatic and friendly, people couldn’t help but be attracted to him. When word gets out that he’s dead...things aren’t going to be good. For anyone.

There will be people thirsting for Tubbo’s head, and for once Eret doesn’t know how to help.

—

Tommy doesn’t know how long he spends in that clearing. At some point he wakes up, eyes crusty with dried tears and his stomach wailing for food. He digs into his backpack, pulling out an old baked potato and biting into it. It’s cold and doesn’t taste the best, admittedly, but he eats it anyway. Beggars can’t be choosers.

The sun has long since set, a full moon risen in place. Bright stars litter the sky. Absentmindedly, Tommy is reminded of a time when Phil had told him, Wilbur, and Techno that every star is a dead ancestor, watching over them from their place in the heavens. He had scoffed then, waving off the older man with a prideful ‘I don’t need some old, dead adults watching over me. I’m already tough!’ and received an eye roll from Phil in response.

Those had been simpler times. Tommy wonders where his dad is now. Phil had always been an adventurer, never one to stay in one place for too long. The last time Tommy had seen him was a long while ago, during Will’s birthday when the older blond had dropped off a brand new guitar, beautifully carved and holding just a hint of magic within it. He hadn’t stayed long though, vanishing almost immediately in a flurry of gray feathers with a sly wink towards his two younger sons.

How is he going to tell Phil about Wilbur’s death? Tommy’s stomach coils tight at the thought. There’s no doubt that he’d be angry. Phil was generally a calm and reasonable person, but even Techno had seen first handedly how violent and dangerous the magic user could get when motivated. How would he be able to tell his dad that it was Tubbo who did it? Tommy leans against the bark, sighing.

“Everything’s gone to shit, hasn’t it?” He chuckles wryly to himself. Faintly, Tommy wonders what the point of staying even is. He could run away, far into the forest and far away from both Pogtopia and Manberg. He could build himself a nice house, preferably by the river. Or maybe even a beach. It would be peaceful.

But it would be lonely. Tommy has never been a fan of being alone, and he doesn’t understand anyone who would willingly spend more than a few hours by themselves. He sighs. Maybe that’s not a good plan after all.

Something rustles in the bushes.

Tommy perks up, immediately alert. One hand moves instinctively to his netherite sword, fingers curling around the leather hilt. His muscles tense in preparation to either fight or run, glaring into the darkness where the sound had originated from. More rustling ensues, far too loud and persistent to be anything smaller than a wolf. A boot emerges from the bush first, the rest of the figure leaving the shadows of the forest and stepping into the moonlit clearing. The pale light makes Dream’s mask give off an almost ethereal glow as he approaches. Tommy relaxes a little, letting his weapon rest back in the soft grass. 

Dream tilts his head curiously, staring down at the seated Pogtopian. “You ran far.” 

“And?” Tommy snaps defensively, bristling. Dream holds his hands up innocently, moving to take a seat against the same tree. 

He shrugs, “Just commenting.” Tommy scowls, glancing away so that he doesn’t have to see the bright green of the older man’s horrendous hoodie in his peripheral vision.

A few beats of silence pass. Tommy exhales quietly, his mind abuzz with worried speculations. Dream and him aren’t particularly close. They could be considered friends, sure, but with the older man taking Wilbur’s side and supporting the idea of blowing up the festival, Tommy can’t help but blame him just a little bit. Dream could’ve stopped him, and yet he chose not to. And now Wilbur is dead. 

Dream speaks first, his voice low. There’s something unreadable within it—which makes Tommy uneasy, “What are you planning to do now?”

The blond teen glances away. “I don’t fucking know,” he huffs bitterly, “leave, maybe.”

“Leave?” He can practically picture Dream raising his eyebrow. Not that he had seen the masked man’s face too often, but it was enough for him to remember. Dream continues, sounding disappointed in him, which makes Tommy bristle, “You’re just going to let him get away with it?”

“What do you mean?” He scowls, a bit confused. The other hums thoughtfully, fingers tapping rhythmically on his padded leather knee guards. The brown contrasts slightly with the matte black of his jeans.

“I just thought,” Dream shrugs, “that you would want to get revenge. Wilbur was your brother, and you don’t seem all too upset about his death.”

Anger sparks within the younger blond. Tommy rockets to his feet, glaring viciously down at the netherite wearing man. “Of course I’m fucking upset!” He snarls, “Wilbur was my older brother, and even though he became an insane fucking psychopath he was still family. Don’t fucking try to tell me that I’m not upset!” He points an accusing finger at Dream, “You’re the one that didn’t stop him from trying to blow Manberg to shit! This is your fault!”

Dream’s plastic mask smiles up at him, aggravatingly happy. Tommy grits his teeth, fighting the urge to punch the green bastard in the face. He’d already been in a war with Dream once, and he wasn’t about to get into another one. Not that he was scared of him, but at the current moment Tommy wasn’t the most beloved figure in both the DreamSMP and Manberg. 

“You say that, but you don’t seem like you’re going to do anything to avenge his death.” Dream pauses, softening his tone slightly, “Wilbur was my friend too, Tommy. We had our quarrels, but in the end we were friends. I never intended for him to die.” He sighs, regret lacing his words, “I didn’t think Tubbo would kill him.”

_Tubbo._

Tommy stills. Oh. He had almost forgotten about Tubbo. The image flashes in his mind again, of Tubbo standing over the lifeless body of his older brother. Sword in hand, blood splattering the detestable suit Schlatt commissioned. His face had been void of any sort of remorse, blank blue eyes staring down at Wilbur—who he had fought beside, laughed with, started a _nation_ with, as if he were a stranger. Suddenly, Tommy feels sick to his stomach. Tubbo killed Wilbur. 

And he didn’t even seem sorry about it.

“I’m pretty sure—” Tommy stammers, grappling with the part of him that screams Tubbo has turned bad, while another shouts that Tubbo didn’t have a choice. He glances to the side, into the dense forest before staring down at his shaking hands. “Tubbo wouldn’t have—Wilbur was gonna…”

“I don’t think Wilbur purposely wanted to hurt anyone,” Dream muses thoughtfully, “Tubbo didn’t even try to negotiate. He just...did it.” The masked man glances to the side, “You’re trying to justify _murder_ , Tommy.” The blond pauses for a second before adding on, sounding a bit miffed, “You didn’t seem too fond of Tubbo when he stabbed Wilbur through the chest.”

“Wh..What?” Tommy frowns, “I was angry. And upset.”

“Why?”

“Because…” he says slowly, the gears in his mind twisting and turning. “Tubbo killed Wilbur. A-and...Wilbur didn’t deserve it.” He killed Wilbur. Tommy suddenly feels a surge of anger. Wilbur didn’t deserve to die. Tubbo could’ve negotiated, or tried to talk to him or just taken the detonator while Wilbur didn’t see him. He didn’t have to kill Wilbur. So why did he? Tommy curls his hands into fists, trying not to let his anger show.

“Tubbo killed Wilbur.” Dream echoes. “What are you going to do now, Tommy?”

Tommy breathes deeply, closing his eyes and calming his rage. The cool air soothes him, the smell of the nearby stream calming. He takes a few deep breaths, opening his eyes again. Dream sits against the tree, one arm propped up on his knee. He tilts his head at the younger boy, waiting for him to speak. Tommy picks up his sword, sliding the sharp weapon back into its sheath on his back. Determination courses through him. “I’m going to get revenge. I’m going to avenge Wilbur.”

Under his mask, Dream smirks. 

_That was easy._

**Author's Note:**

> comment?? :)


End file.
